Breathe Me
by PushTheButtton
Summary: "As she sits in quiet solitude in the courthouse stairwell, she's reminded of her demons. She's a loner. She's a fighter. She's a survivor. She's a warrior. She's independent. She's a liar. " ::Post Psycho Therapist::
1. Chapter 1

**Breathe Me**

**Post Psycho Therapist**

**Stairwell**

It's cold. It's hard. It's dark.

Her eyes are closed and the metal railing digs into her temple as she leans against it.

Her eyes are closed but she still sees him. His fiery eyes, his spittle hitting her chin as he taunts her, it's on a continuous loop behind her eye lids.

Her breathing is labored, her chest aches and her throat hurts from the grating pressure of her quiet sobs.

She can't go home. She can't sit there in domestic bliss and pretend it's what she wants.

She can't go sit and let Brian think what she needs is to be touched. To be soothed, to be reassured when all she can think about is regrets, mistakes... lies.

As she sits in quiet solitude in the courthouse stairwell, she's reminded of her demons. She's a loner. She's a fighter. She's a survivor. She's a warrior. She's independent. She's a liar.

She lies to herself all the time now. She didn't used to.

She used to thinly veil the demons threatening to escape with her job and her partner and with the cases that didn't exactly follow her home that night.

She's now kidding herself about everything. Lies.

And maybe Lewis is right. Maybe she's been lying to herself this whole time.

_You were trying to be alone with me! You came into the bedroom, started talking to me about your romantic fantasies about your ex partner and how he woulda known what to do with me. _

"He would've," she whispers into her arm as she clings to the metal railing. "He would've."

It's not the lies she told on the stand that worry her and that scares her. Because she now only cares about the ones she tells herself everyday.

She thinks about booking a hotel room for the night, needing the solitude more than coddling right now but she doesn't trust herself. She doesn't trust her instincts right now.

Lewis is going to prison but it doesn't appease her unease.

He'd gotten into her space once. He could do it again, even if only in her subconcious, and she'd nearly taken Cassidy's head off because she'd second guessed her instincts.

Another sob escapes and she clenches her teeth and bares herself to the empty stairwell, the echoing of her guttural pleas the only sound.

She doesn't expect anyone to come looking for her.

They all have some kind of unspoken agreement to give her space when she asks for it and she knows Brian won't seek her out...

He's pensive around her as it is and she knows he has no idea what to do with the situation. He tries to be there, in person and emotionally, but there's only so much any of them can do really and it's almost too much and not enough at the same time.

She sits up, releasing her iron clad grip on the rail and plants her elbows ontop of her thighs.

Resting her head in her palms, she breathes, she simply tries to breathe and take in everything that's happened the past several weeks and during this trial from hell, in which she feels like she was the perp instead of the one testifying against her attacker.

Everyone had come to support but somehow it just didn't negate the fact she'd been already hollowing out from loss.

What loss, she isn't sure.

It's a billowy atmosphere within though, a smog clouding up her vision, her lungs and it presses against her insides with immense feeling.

Loss.

She leans back and for a split second, she wonders if she'd get away with camping out in the stairwell, avoiding life in general for a few days.

But when she looks around at the unwelcoming off green stairs and the grayish colored walls that might have been white at one time, she shivers.

She covers her forhead with her hand, and almost on cue, a throb slowly starts to form behind her eyelids.

She almost welcomes the ache, as if to deflect from the constant one that's been there in her chest for longer than she doesn't even bother to keep track of anymore.

The throb in her ribcage , in time with her heartbeat, is what makes it all real though. It's a lingering presence that she desperately needs to feel functional as much as she hates it.

If it's not there, sometimes she feels as if she'll drift off into space, an unconcious plethora of nothingness.

A prickling sensation on the back of her neck causes her hand to fall away from her face moments later, making her realize she's in the present.

She feels someone glide through the door to the stairwell and a swift breeze from the door closing swooshes past her, briefly tossing up the tendrils of her shorter hair.

She almost sighs in annoyance that she'd been wrong in believing she'd be left alone.

But she doesn't, instead, she holds her breath, letting her cheeks fill with oxygen before letting it slowly escape.

Without turning around, she whispers, trying not to convey the annoyance she feels for she knows those around her are only concerned.

She bites her bottom lip and isn't surprised when she tastes the metallic hint of blood on her tongue when she speaks.

"I still need a minute," she breathes out to the presence behind her.

She rubs her clammy hands up and down her knees, expecting the door to click open and shut again, but only silence lingers behind her.

She sits still, and suddenly she thinks that maybe this is another hallucination or that Lewis is behind her, that he's fooled the system again and finally going to finish what he started, but she quickly shakes the thoughts out of her head. She'd seen him being led out in cuffs.

He's going to prison... but the prickling on the back of her neck doesn't fade.

She takes several deep breaths, not knowing what to expect when she turns around but knowing, somehow, it's going to be much more than just a concerned face.

Turning her head slightly behind her, she keeps her eyes focused on the metal railing as she speaks.

"I said I need another minute or so. I'll be out there in a minu-..." she trails off as the swooshing of fabric rubbing against fabric distracts her from finishing that thought.

She furrows her eyebrows as she pants against the ebbing sobs building up again in her chest.

Swallowing, she timidly turns her head all the way, turning her torso at the same time so she can look at the person behind her.

What she sees standing there will be forever etched in her mind.

He's standing there. All of him. He's in a black, zip up jacket, blue v -neck t-shirt underneath, dark jeans and brown work boots.

Her face warms instantly and she's sure it looks swollen and blotchy from crying so much lately. She probably looks foreign to him.

She feels like laughing at that because he's the most foreign specimen of all, especially in a court house dressed as he is surrounded by suits and ties.

Not counting the fact he's been gone for so goddamned long.

Her breath hitches when she tries to speak. Her voice disappears when she opens her mouth and she closes her eyes reminding herself that if this is a hallucination from all the stress, she can make it. She can still make it.

When she reopens them, she sees the defeat written on him and her eyes glaze over with moisture. His eyes are downcast, his head bowed, the little that she can see of the skin around his eyes reddened from threatening tears, and his stubble covered jaw grinding, underneath the taught skin.

With his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket and his back leaning against the wall, he almost seems vulnerable. No. He can't be. She needs him to be her rock.

She needs him to be the stability this time. Maybe that makes her selfish but he has to be because she can't anymore.

She turns her body around again, trying to control her ragged breaths and she hears him shuffling behind her.

If one thing's for sure, she's not giving him an inkling of how much she needs him right now. He can have everything else inside of her, but she'll keep that last bit of herself.

She covers her face with her hands and rocks back and forth, trying to fight against this horrible hallucination, which is what she's convinced herself this is.

She thinks about how she's been having so many of those lately. About how at that moment, it again feels impossible that after all this time he'd really be standing there, hovering, lingering, sheltering her from the outside.

And yet, she can't fathom why her heart and mind would conjur this one up. This one simply hurts too much.

She barely rocks back and forth, and it's her own voice she hadn't even realized was murmuring something that makes her squeeze her eyes closed even tighter.

_Please, please, please, please._

When she opens her eyes, all she sees is black but then she remembers she's got her face pressed so tightly into her palms that she can't breathe and slowly, she lifts her sweaty hands away from her face.

It's silent again, and she thinks the image of him is gone but seconds later, the shuffling sound returns and she can't get herself to move. She's too weak. Too tired. Too mangled emotionally.

Frozen.

_I froze. _

Before she has a second to process the words, the ones she'd uttered in court, the one's describing why she's in the courthouse stairwell sobbing at all, she feels a heat forming against her back, and a solid wall of warmth and protection she never thought she could ever feel in one embrace.

She isn't scared.

Her heart pounds though as she feels his face burrow in against her shoulder, his breath hitting her neck with each of his sobs.

He's sobbing.

Her eyes slam shut just as she feels his body start to tremble against hers, a vivid reminder that yes, this is reality.

His chest presses firmly against her back and slowly, tentatively, he snakes his arms around her torso while sitting one step higher than she, wrapping himself around her tightly, his shaking transferring to her body as she squeezes her eyes closed and quietly sobs against the solid, soft, warm, steel of him behind her.

She wants so badly to touch his arms that rest against her stomach. But she's afraid of the intensity of feelings that will spring forth, knowing he's really there, not some apparition of days past.

He slowly, gently starts rocking them back and forth and that's when she breaks fully, a loud gasp escapes her mouth, followed by a guttural sob, pouring so fluidly and passionately out of her.

His arms wrap even tighter and if this were anyone else, she'd feel suffocated. But she doesn't and he doesn't stop rocking her.

His knees splay out on either side of her and in an attempt to ground herself, she grabs onto the solidness of them and holds on, letting her back fall against his chest wholeheartedly, letting him take the weight of them both.

He doesn't say anything; he just speaks with his own labored breathing, sadness and tears. His stubble drags against her jaw and neck and she revels in it because she feels it.

It makes her feel something. The roughness goads her to keep going, to keep breathing, to keep fighting.

It's when he finally speaks that she starts to fully process where she is again, who's touching her and who's breathing against her neck.

"I shoulda shot her in the leg. It's my fault," he pants in her ear.

She takes a clammy palm from where it rests on one and his legs and grasps one of his hands where it rests agains her middle, effectively stopping his mumblings of regrets.

"What are you talking about?" she murmurs back, sniffling back the moisture.

"You regret it, don't you?" he asks instead, avoiding her question.

"Elliot, I don't..."

"You regret not killing him, don't you?"

"I..." she starts, then stops. How he knows her still haunts hers. The moments Lewis's spit came precariously close to hitting her in the face, she'd been futher reminded he was a monster. She'd already known, but in that instant, she'd wished she'd pulled the trigger back at that cabin.

Sniffiling, she turns her head, looking back at the man she'd spent twelve, goddamned grueling years with, the one who covered her back, took up for her after her fuck ups, told her she was a good cop.

"Yes," she breathes out, hiccupping, needing air more than his response but she gets both anyway.

"I wanted to kill all those perps. I wanted to kill them all. But that girl, I killed _her_ and I didn't have to," he laughs lowly, a small growl escaping in frustration she realizes. "I'm a screw-up Olivia, there's never been any doubt huh? Just like now, this should have never happ-"

"Stop, just stop," she pleads tearfully. He does but he doesn't let up his hold on her. If anything, it feels tighter with every one of his ragged breaths. She doesn't want to hear his regrets. She doesn't want to hear how he's been struggling. She doesn't want his excuses and doesn't want to know why.

She thought she did, but what she wants more than anything is for him to never not be her rock wall, protecting her from the demons he knows little about now.

"I'll kill him..." he grates out against her shoulder, effectively catching her attention again as if he's reading her mind. "I should kill him for what he did to you," he swallows and she wants to tell him to stop, to stop trying to protect her, even though she wants him to, but she realizes that he'll never stop.

He'll never get over this.

"No you won't," she answers back, grabbing onto his arm and pulling it away from her body, allowing herself to turn slightly in his arms. "You won't do anything stupid, Elliot. You won't, you won't..." she grates out. "You have no right!" she grates out angrily. "You have no right. You lost that right when you put in your papers."

He immediately shakes his head but doesn't say anything. She knows he wants to argue and when she looks closely into his reddened eyes, the message lingering there in the gloss coating the whites almost makes her want to run.

She squeezes his hand unconsciously thinking about his absences, his disappearance from her life and again she's reeling. But, she knows all she needs is this moment. This one embrace and she thinks she can make it through the rest of her life.

They'll go. He'll lead her out of the stairwell, into sunlight again and she'll have to say goodbye, but he showed up. She'll be able to breathe again and she'll have the scent of him on her clothes still, the feeling of his lingering touch and maybe one day it'll be permanent, like a tattoo.

"I know, Liv," he whispers, his eyes lifting up and she sees the intense shade of blue for the first time. It's as if they have brightened up in the short amount of time they've been together.

She feels the lift too. The heaviness inside of her chest seems to lift by the second and as she feels his hands drag up her sides and under her arms to stand her up on the step below him, she realizes something.

This is what she had needed all this time. To breathe him in. For them to breathe life into each other again.

**I'm kind of leaving this open ended because I wasn't sure where to end this. Keep an eye out, I may add a second part. Thanks for reading. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the amazing reviews for the first part. The response was overwhelming in a wonderful way. So sorry it's taken me this long to get the next part up because this wasn't easy. I wanted it to be consistent with the first part so I hope you enjoy. As of now, this is it. But if anything else comes to me, I may add a third part or post a separate story that's related to this. It's back to Cruz after this. Once again, thanks so much for reading! **

* * *

**6 Months Later**

The humidity doesn't bother her, it actually reminds her of how far she's come since the icy winter months.

It also reminds her of how much she's thawed out since that day in the stairwell, how much easier it is to breathe when she wakes up every morning.

It's a Saturday and since her promotion, she's able to do this; to just, take a walk and leave the musty atomosphere of the precinct on her lunch break.

They still stare at her, her colleagues, but now it's not at the fragile, emotionally distraught woman walking out of Cragen's office that day after she'd been taken away from the hell she still dreams about.

Instead they stare at her like their superior, and it feels invigorating. She holds onto those little pieces of herself that she sees in their eyes, someone stronger, stealthier and the chill slowly seeps out of her and the warmth filters into her like the brisk summer wind that whisps all around her now.

She stands outside the large building and just stares up at the one window in it that reminds her of so many memories. The reminder makes her want to tear up for the lone fact she'll never make another memory in this building.

Instead, she sniffs and takes a deep breath, lifting the small purse, she now carries with her all the time, over her shoulder and adjusts the short sleeved, light blue blouse she'd been eager to pull out of her closet for this day.

Glancing back up at the window she'd blinked her lights out of on more than one occassion, she lets a sad smile flow across her face, remembering that no one lives up there now. Her old super uses it as an office because tennants were just too turned off by the fact an officer had been through her own personal hell inside.

She doesn't really blame them, she's surprised she's even able to stand outside it, considering a day doesn't go by that she doesn't flashback to that night over a year ago.

The dreams, the nightmares, the PTSD, never fully goes away but she's learned to live with the fact by turning them into something positive, reminding herself that she'd made it out alive. That's she's still breathing, living.

As she stands on the sidewalk, she watches from the corners of her eyes as the city continues to go on around her. How the people on the sidewalks have no idea who she is or what she does or what went on in the very apartment she can't take her eyes off of. She wants to stop someone on their way by and say, _Hey, see that window up there? Yea, I almost died in there awhile back, but for some reason I decided to meet up with someone here now when I was pretty much coping with everything. _

"Hey," his voice breaks her thoughts and she turns and immediately her lips lift into a small smile, she can't help it. "Thought I'd find you here."

"Yeah," she swallows. "I uh, I'd realized I didn't tell you I moved when we last talked on the phone."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yea, I took a cab over here from where I live. You know, after everything that happened, I... I couldn't go back there," she trails off softly, wiping a hand down her mouth as she glances at him from the corner of her eye. "So, Brian, you know, Cassidy? He offered to help me move and we ended up just moving in together. We were kinda of dating before that and we just fell into a routine and ... uh, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

"No," Elliot interjects. "This is why we're here right? To meet up for coffee and ... talk," he adds hesitantly, as if wondering if she could have possibly changed her mind already.

"You're right, you're right. I'm ready..." she breathes out. "You wanna just walk down to the diner then or grab a cab?"

"I could use some fresh air, my cab driver left," he offers with a sly smile, as he pushes his hands into his jean pockets, his forearms flexing under the white t-shirt he wears, his sunglasses ontop of his head making him look considerably in shape, and healthy and she feels herself thaw out even more.

"Yeah," she nods, pulling her hair up into a short ponytail as they start to walk side by side down the sidwalk in the direction of the diner a few blocks away.

Almost instantly, they fall into step, their arms swing in the same pattern, his footfalls matching hers and it makes her anxious. She's anxious for many reasons.

She's anxious to know about him. She's anxious about her own reaction to what he has to say. She's anxious to know whether or not what he has to say will hurt or heal her heart from the past three years he's been gone.

She wonders if he feels the same way, if he's apprehensive about her reaction to what he has to say. It can't be easy for him to tell her what his logic was for finally showing up when he did. She almost knows before hand that she isn't going to understand.

Almost knows that he'll have a reason but she'll want to be selfish and need more from him and she almosts chickens out right there, almost stops midstride to run in the other direction so she doesn't have to live with the intense pain or gratification, whichever it may be, from what he's going to say.

His voice cuts through her thoughts again and she shouldn't be surprised, he cuts through every facet of her life. He's the one who used to rip her apart at her seams and sow her back together again. It was natural, it was something that made her grow, so when he stops in front of her, facing her, she wonders if he'd been reading her mind yet again.

"Liv."

"Yeah," she rasps out, her voice cracking.

"You know, we don't have to do this today. I mean... I know we agreed that we could do this, talk, but I can tell something's off. If you're not ready to hear me out yet, then that's okay. I understand. I deserve it."

"No, no..." she interjects. "Elliot, it's not that,' and she feels the half lie in the pit of her stomach, "If it's okay, I'd rather take the food to go and go sit in the park and do this or something. Just the thought of being inside today and... contained ... err like you said, fresh air would do us both some good, especially while we talk and catch up."

Elliot watches her with concerned eyes for a moment, his neck bobbing as he swallows nervously in front of her, his neck and cheeks glowing with a slight flush from his confusion.

"Okay, then," he speaks slowly, nodding toward the diner they'd made their way to without her noticing. "I'll go order, you wanna stay out here?"

She nods and watches him walk into the diner they'd frequented for years as partners. When his back disappears though the clear glass doors, she finally breathes in the lingering scent of him.

. . .

"We divorced over two years ago. I know it sounds cliche, Liv. But leaving the force, leaving all the distractions and chaos behind, it really didn't mend anything. If anything..." he trails off, biting into his hoagie sandwich.

"Oh, so I was a distraction? You said, leaving the distractions of your job behind didn't change things. I was part of the job then," she offers him, timidly, trying not to sound hurt and yet trying to gauge an honest response from him.

He immediately stops chewing, setting his sandwich down on the picnic table they sit across from each other at, and just stares at her. His face is blank but that all too telling movement in his jaw muscle gives way his unease, his retort.

"You know better , Liv."

"Do I?" she asks innocently as she takes a bite of her own club sandwich.

"Olivia," he starts, that bob showing up in his neck again as he swallows, distracting her from the emotion in his voice. He crosses his arms on the table in front of him and leans in, his eyes bright, maybe with moisture, she can't tell because she can't look at them right now, and bends his head trying to engage her.

"El.. I," she starts, then covers her own mouth as she bites her bottom lip.

"No, listen," he stops her gently. "You know better than that. I know you're hurt. I know you're expecting all the quintascential excuses but all I have to say, is that you were more than work. You were more than a partner. I couldn't take work home with me because I didn't want to mix the two but this one, it wasn't about you being the job. Don't you realize, that after what happened that day with that girl, that what I was seeing in my nightmares, that what I was feeling, that I could never let you see that? I wanted so badly to let you take hold of that pain, but I couldn't, you didn't need to see any of that. I wanted to keep it away from you because you are my family. I needed to make sure I was okay before I let you see into me again. I wanted to make sure my life was something I was willing to show people, not because I had to, but because I felt comfortable doing so. I want you to know... I never stop thinking about you..." he breathes, his last words flowing out on a short breath.

Her bottom lip trembles but the tremor is safely concealed behind her hand. As she continues to stare at the top of the picnic table, she realizes her focus has been on it the entire time he'd been speaking.

She wants to be mad at him. She is mad at him for thinking she needed to be sheltered from his demons.

"I want to be mad at you. I am mad at you." She whispers it a few times to herself before looking up to him and catching his watery gaze, his arms are still resting on the table, but he's got his hands clasped, one of his thumbs rubbing nervously over the other as he waits for her repsonse. She can tell he's laid it all on the table.

He's bare. She's so used to him being hidden behind a concrete wall of emotional barriers, hidden away and contained. Contained.

She continues, surprising herself when she reaches timidly for his hands, placing her palm over his combined ones, effectively stopping his motions.

"I'm mad at you. I'm mad that you thought I needed sheltering from your demons. Lord knows, Elliot, I've had my own my entire life. You should know that."

"Olivia," he tries to comment but she stops him, snatching her hand away and sitting straight up on the hard wooden seat of the picnic table.

"No, listen. Just ... listen. I don't need sheltering. What I've always needed is for you to be honest with me. We can't be friends if you're going to shut me out. We can't be around each other anymore if I shut _you _out," she rambles on, not noticing his eyes scrunch closed.

"Liv, I wanted to be what you needed for once. You've always been what I needed when I couldn't reign myself in. After I heard you were going to be testifying, I tried so goddamned hard to make sure I was in one piece when I showed up to the court house. I knew you didn't want to be coddled. I knew you would hate it if I'd shown up all those other times with everyone else around and to be honest, even if I'd come around when no one else was there, I was sure you'd be tired of me. I was always worried you'd get tired of me..." he trails off, his voice trembling.

His words are exactly what she'd been expecting. Nothing less but a little bit more than she bargained for. He's right.

As much as she'd yearned for him the days after he'd stepped away from that stage of his life, she'd inherently known he had done the same exact thing she would have.

The way they understand each other is beyond normal functioning human beings. That thought alone, makes her want to scream at the absurdity flowing in her mind.

"I am mad at you," she repeats and she knows she's probably starting to sound insane, but she doesn't care. So she presses on, "I have demons, I have everything you do," she adds again solemnly. "I thought I wanted to know what kept you away, but in all honesty?" She asks it as a question but in reality it's as simple as the oxygen they simply cannot live without. "I would have done the same thing," she breathes out, her voice cracking as she rests her elbows on the table and hides her face in her palms.

She starts to feel her body shake but she tries to remain absolutely still. She wants to be mad at him, she inwardly repeats one more time, but she finally realizes he's done everything for her.

For her.

He'd waited for the right time.

And she doesn't blame him.

The warmth of his hands filter into her consciousness as he wraps his palm around one of her forearms, pulling it away from her face, her eyes blurred from the honesty she's let flow out of her and from his own truths still dangling in the air above them.

"I can breathe now," he smiles, the octave of his voice just above the whisper of wind dancing around them, as the sun seems to glide out from behind a cloud.

"I know," she nods, letting herself smile. "I think we can do this, Elliot."

"I think so too," he grins, as he pushes around the bread crumbs on his plate. "I'd like for us to be friends again."

"Me too," she whispers as she picks at the bread on her sandwich. "I know it won't be the same as before."

"No... it won't," he agrees.

"We're different people. I've seen a lot, done a lot, in the three and half years since you've been away. I've come to think I'm more jaded than ever," she offers sheepishly.

"Well, we have something in common already then, because me too," he responds, biting his lower lip. "You forgive me?" he asks quietly, his back slumped as his hands linger closely to hers on top of the table. "I understand if you need more time. I do, Liv."

She watches as his knuckles maneuver under the scarred skin of his fingers and she takes a deep breath, becoming aware of the sounds around her for the first time since they'd arrived.

Everything starts to materialize; the sounds of people chattering, the sounds of dog's barking, the children on the playground playing, the breeze ruffling the branches above them and the sound of her own heart charging against her rib cage.

"Yeah," she offers lightly, "Yeah. Like I said, I may not have wanted to believe it at first, but I understand, Elliot. I feel like we're always on the same page even if we're not in the same room."

He smiles at that, raising his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes as if wiping away the weariness that had been lingering behind his lids.

He takes a deep breath and she just watches him, watches as the light summer breeze ruffles his shirt sleeve and how his sunglasses sit lower on his forehead than before. Before she knows it, her lunch break is over and she finds herself wanting to call off for the rest of the day, wanting nothing more than to sit here at this very picnic table until she knows everything that's happened since he left.

"I uh, I had Lizzie and Dickie living with me for awhile," he says around a bite of one of his potato chips. "I think now, having them rooming with Maureen and her friend up in Long Island was a better idea for all of us. Those two are something else," he smiles, leaning in and locking eyes with her.

She finds herself fascinated by his stories. She longs for those tiny tidbits of his life and what he may or may not have been doing at the same time she had been sitting at her desk or at home thinking of him and how he was.

She leans in too, crossing her arms in front of her on the table, "I bet. They're all so grown up. You get Eli this weekend?"

"Yeah," he mutters around a smirk. "He's seven now."

"Wow," she utters. "Time flies."

"Don't we know it," he says slowly, locking eyes with her again. "Liv, I know I don't deser-"

"El," she interrupts him again. "Really, stop. Look, I have to be back at the precinct in a few minutes. You wanna ride back with me?"

He closes his eyes for a brief second and then he slowly opens them again, his crooked smile spreading across his face once more.

"I uh, I haven't been back since..."

"The shooting," she finishes for him in a whisper.

He nods and scratches a random spot on the table top with one of his fingernails. "Yeah, I'll ride with you though. You can drop me off at my place on your way back to work," he adds with a raise of his brows. "It's actually on the way. See, I could never stray too far from you."

Shaking her head, she inhales deeply and leans her head sideways, gaping at him in wonderment.

"You? You've been living ..."

"Three doors down from the diner."

"Elliot."

"I know, I've been there for seven months and I still have boxes everywhere. There's an even bigger mess since Liz and Rick moved out. That's where I'd been getting my shit together before that day at the courthouse. I went by your apartment one day but I was too much of a coward to stop so I kept going. Good thing now that I think about it."

"Yeah, I moved."

"Yeah, you told me."

"Right."

"So."

"So."

"I'd like to see you more."

"I don't know," she states slowly, her voice just above a whisper. "I don't want what happened with us before to happen again. If you can't promise me that first, then maybe..."

"I promise," he offers immediately, his eyes full of sincerity and sorrow all in one. "I promise, Olivia. I gave you your space but I won't let you get that far away ever again," he rasps out, his hand sliding across the table, taking ahold of one of her wrists. He pulls it out away from her body and squeezes it gently. "If you want to, I'd like to start slow. I want to be friends again."

"Sure," she barely mumbles, the sensation of his hand touching her skin too blatantly apparent in her mind. She doesn't like to think of the cliche butterlies but this is real. The contact is real and she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, feeling the words escape on her exhale_, I can breathe. _

"I'll call you," he says quietly, releasing her wrist at the same time as he sits up and grabs his trash. "I think I have some errands to run. I'd ask you to come but you said you were on your lunch break so I'll let you go ahead. I'll just take my own cab instead of making you drop me off."

"Okay," she acquiesces. "Okay, then I'll talk to you later."

He stops, and looks like he's caught off guard for a second, and she still sees his hesitation of her acceptance of his absence. But she knows he's only being careful for her. He's making sure she's confident in his presence and she couldn't appreciate him more because of that. "I'll call you," he utters as he rubs ahand down the back of his head, his glasses covering what she imagines are weary blue eyes.

Nodding, Olivia slowly gathers her trash too and a small smile flows freely across her face again.

She feels lighter and she feels every nerve end bouncing around in her limbs, and she wants to tell him in that moment that yeah, she'll go with him, that she'll go along with his idea of running errands because she knows he wants to show her his new pad.

But she won't. She can't right now. They needed to go slow, like he'd said and she knows he understands. She'd asked from him to talk and he had, and now, if given the chance, she'll do the same.

She'll give him a little piece at a time though because starting over new is like breathing in deeply and holding that breath inside yourself. Your body starts tingling and you let it out, feeling the pressure lifting and easing.

And you start breathing again.

_end._


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue**

"Daddy! Tell Rayna it's my turn to pick out a movie this week!"

"Baby, why don't you let her pick she's the guest. You can pick tomorrow night."

"But Dad! I'm s'posed to pick. We had to watch _Little Mermaid _already."

She can't help the grin on her face as she stands outside the apartment door belonging to her former partner, the muffled voices inside filtering out into the hallway.

She forces away the grin for the most part before she raises her knuckles to the door, rapping three times, and instantly hearing commotion on the other side after she does so.

Footsteps resound against the wooden apartment floor and then she hears the clinking of locks as Elliot releases the latch.

The door swings open and slowly, the grin forms again on her mouth.

He looks in disarray but he's never been more adorable. He's in his sweatpants which have ridden halfway up his shins, his dark blue, long sleeved t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows with a powdery substance smeared across his chest.

She assumes it's from his attempt to get an early start on their dinner.

In her hands, she holds the salad she's made and the bottles of hotsauce for their hot wings are in the bag tucked close to her body by her elbow.

She glances down at her offerings before glancing back up at Elliot's form standing in the doorway, one hand on the door and the other holding onto a spatula.

"I uh, I brought the salad and sauces," she offers sheepishly watching as he moves to let her in with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Thanks. I'm glad you could make it. I guess you can tell, I was trying to get an early start so we could be eating by the time the game started."

"Trouble?"

"Eli and his cousin Rayna are with me this weekend. Kath's sister lets them spend time together since they're the same age."

"Ah," Olivia assents as she follows Elliot into the kitchen. She places the bag with the several small bottles of hot sauce on the counter and walks the large plastic bowl of salad to the refrigerator. "You need help?"

"Nah, I just need to finish breading these legs for the kids and then they're ready to go into the oven."

"Breaded chicken? I'm impressed, El. I've never taken you for a homemade kinda guy," she quips as she stands with her back against the counter.

"You'd be surprised, Liv. Maureen bought me a cook book as part of my house warming, or should I say, apartment warming present. Eli and I have gotten about halfway through it already."

She laughs softly as she crosses her arms over her chest and glances to her left where the living room is located.

Eli and his cousin sit quietly as they watch a yellow talking sponge motion to his buddy Patrick on screen. She smiles and turns back to Elliot who's wiping his hands with a dishtowel and staring at her with a inquiring look.

"What?"

"You look different."

She glances down at herself self consciously, wondering if she'd accidentally forgotten some part of her clothing. She's wearing a pair of tight legged jeans and a t-shirt with a loose fitting cardigan over it.

The February air is unusually warm so she'd forgone a jacket and just grabbed her sweatshirt that rests beside her on his counter, having taken it off as soon as she'd put the salad in the fridge .

His voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

"No, I mean, in a good way. I mean...," he stumbles over his words as he takes a few short steps closer to her. "I mean, from the first time I saw you almost a year ago, you've changed. You look... lighter."

She breathes in a rush of air, taking in his closer proximity and turns her head slightly to the side, glancing around him at the wings and legs for the kids, and then back at his face.

Giving him a short smile, she puts her thumbs in her pant pockets before moving around him, speaking at the same time.

"Well, I've got a lot reasons to be," she offers vaguely as she picks up the baking sheet full of chicken and opens the oven door. After she carefully places it in the oven, she closes the door and glances back at him.

He takes her place with his back against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest as he watches her.

"I'm glad," he nods. "I, uh. I preheated it, so we should be eating just as the game starts. I have appetizers in the living room. I should go make sure the two minions in there haven't gotten ahold of them yet," he smirks as he reaches for the towel in her hands.

His fingers brush against hers and she smiles as a shiver runs through her.

"I'll go check on them," she nods toward the two who are super quiet after all the commotion she'd heard while standing outside his apartment door.

He smirks and nods as he opens a cabinet behind him, pulling out two large glass mugs. "Beer?" he questions as she walks past him.

She stops just beyond the kitchen entry and stares at the matching glasses.

She looks up to him, feeling herself smiling again for a reason she's not privvy to quite yet, though she thinks it might be because he has two beer mugs in his cabinet with the super bowl insignia printed across the front of them that he's stashed away for this day in particular.

She aquiesces with a nod before speaking.

"Yeah. I'll have some," she answers over her shoulder as she makes her way to the living room. She barely catches the crooked smile on his lips as he takes the glasses over to the ice box and she hears the clinking of the glass on the counter as she retreats to the living room.

Two little sets of eyes stare at the television set as they lay on opposite ends of the couch.

She decides to sit in the middle and it's not long before Eli sits up and wraps his now eight year old arms around her neck in a quiet embrace.

"Hey buddy," she whispers and wraps her arms around him in return. "How are you doin' today?"

"I'm good. Dad said you were coming over today so me and Rayna had to clean up the living room this morning before you came over. We had a sleepover. Right Rayna?"

"Yeah," the tiny voice of the little girl filters out as she glances at Olivia with a small smile before turning her focus back on the screen.

"That's good," Olivia offers, lightly poking the eight year old in his stomach with her index finger playfully. "I'm glad you're helping your daddy out."

"Yeah, he's been busy cooking all morning. He baked brownies too but he wouldn't let me have any."

Olivia's head raises with that information and she glances over her shoulder at Elliot who's still in the kitchen. This time he's got a party tray in front of him with different cheeses and sliced meat on it. He's cutting summer sausage and she assumes he put their beers in the icebox for now. She pats Eli on his bottom and goes to stand up before the young boy's voice gains her attention again.

"He said there's gotta be enough for everybody if we're going to make it through the whole superbowl game. I told him I eat a lot," the curly-haired boy quips. "I'm eight," he shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Olivia laughs and shakes her head as she makes her way back to the kitchen again. She peeks over Elliot's shoulder and he moves it in front of her to shield what he's doing.

"Ah, no. You're the guest, Liv."

"Come on, Elliot, you let me help with the chicken," she pleads lightly. "And you already have a tray in there. You need this too?"

"Yeah," he quips as he glances over his shoulder. "Eli's a growing boy, you heard him," he chuckles as he puts the knife down and slides the tray in front of her.

"So are the girls and Dickie coming over too?"

He stands still for a moment looking at the left over packaging from the sausage he just cut up before answering.

"Ah," he scratches his bottom lip with his thumbnail before walking the discarded packaging to the trash. "Nah, they couldn't make it. They all had their own plans with their friends. It's just us. You, me, Eli and Rayna. I'm taking her back home after the game."

She nods slowly and looks around the small kitchen, taking in everything before she slowly brings her gaze back to his figure standing in the middle. She lets his words sift through her mind before she subtly changes the subject, not wanting to get into the meaning of all the effort he's putting into this gathering between them.

"So..., this is the new pad huh? I like it."

He chuckles softly before leaning his hip on the counter in front of her. "Yeah, I finally got all the boxes unpacked about two months ago. I think I finished getting Eli's room done the night before we..." he trails off.

"The night you came over to my new place for dinner?"

"Right," he nods as he lowers his head slightly, scratching the back with his hand. "How's that going for you. The new place?"

"It's good," she answers. "A little quiet now. But I'm used to it."

"How's Brian?"

"Uh, as far as I know he's doing great. He took the job with IAB in Staten Island and he lives closer to his mother now. She's a nice lady."

He nods and picks at an imaginary spot on the smooth surface of the counter.

"What's it like living where you are? It's gotta be different than your old apartment building."

"It works. It's not exactly my style but I feel better there than in the other one now."

"I can imagine."

"Yeah. Just the ghosts and things."

Elliot nods and she sees his neck bob as he swallows nervously, seemingly trying to think of what he should say.

"I guess, what I should be asking is, are you happy?"

"Oh I am. I'm happy to be living normally again. I feel like I'm back to being somewhat functional on my own. It wasn't easy after everything."

Elliot simply nods and steps closer to her, and she feels his proximity before seeing his shadow touch hers on the linoleum kitchen floor.

"I uh, I'd like to keep our dinner dates going…and instead of your place next time, we could have it here. If you haven't heard, I've taken a penchant to homemade cooking," he rasps with humor lining his voice.

She laughs softly in reply and raises her eyes to his, slowly stepping closer to him whispering into his air, "I agreed to come to your superbowl party, let's not get ahead of ourselves here," she teases. "Plus, I kinda like my kitchen. It's bigger," she quips over her shoulder as she reaches for a piece of cheese from off the tray.

He huffs out in mock hurt. "You had to bust my balls for the size of my kitchen. Ouch."

She smirks around the food in her mouth before motioning around them.

"I like it, I told you," she mumbles. Swallowing, she adds, "Home is where the heart is. Apparently, the heart of your home is your kitchen and it's… small."

He stands stoic for a second, towel in his hands as he processes her words, a small grin on his lips, no doubt playing around with her wording in his head.

"Oh so it's true? Size doesn't matter?"

She stops mid bite not expecting that exactly, but knowing him, she has to play along.

"Oh yeah...," she offers playfully, a teasing tone in her voice. "Every girl's dream is for a guy to cook for her in the smallest kitchen possible as long as he actually has a bigger... heart," she rasps before popping another piece of summer sausage into her mouth.

She leaves him staring at her open mouthed, hands dangling at his sides. She laughs softly as she nods toward a hallway just off of the kitchen that she assumes leads to his bathroom.

"I'm going to go wash up."

"Last door on your left," he mutters with an amused sarcasm.

"Got it," she retorts over her shoulder as she makes her way down the hall.

. . .

"Daddy can we have some brownies yet?"

"Not yet Bud, you gotta have some real food first okay? I don't want your mom getting mad at me for letting you eat nothing but sweets since you've been here."

"Allllright," the young boy gives in, sitting back with his small arms wrapped across his chest.

Elliot sits back, rubbing the top of his son's curly hair and watches the cartoon movie on the screen.

A few moments pass before Eli speaks again.

"Did 'Livia have some brownies yet," he persists and the corner of Elliot's mouth tips upwards.

"No, not yet."

"You made them for her though, because she was coming over?"

"I made them for everyone, Eli. I just made extra because she was coming over, that's all," Elliot offers as he nudges his youngest son with his shoulder.

Olivia stands quietly against the wide doorframe taking in the scene before her.

She'd gotten done in the bathroom minutes ago and had realized Elliot wasn't in the kitchen anymore.

Watching him now makes her realize how much she's missed over the years. She hadn't always seen him interact with this kids but she's always known he's always tried his best to have a good relationship with them all.

It amazes her how close he and his youngest are. The sweet little boy obviously adores his father and the fact that the boy witnessed his father baking does something to her internally.

She makes her way back to the kitchen where the smell of chicken permeates the air.

She goes to take the oven mitt off the counter next to the stove when he lightly grasps her arm. She halts her movement to look at him curiously, not having heard him get up from the couch or make his way in behind her.

His hold loosens but his hand moves down her arm and toward her hand. He lightly grasps it and tugs her toward him.

"I told you, Liv. You're the guest," he smiles around a shit-eating grin.

She grins in response and he pulls her even closer while opening his mouth if to continue but he doesn't, instead, he just lets his hand move from her wrist to rest just above her hip bone.

With that, he pulls her, without any resistance on her part, the rest of the way against him, her chest lightly bumping into his as she raises her palms to brace herself.

Her palms land on his upper chest, the solid muscle a lot less intimidating than one would think. Instead, he's warm and firm and solid and... everything she's always wondered about.

She swallows and glances up at him, wondering when he got the courage to play around with her like this. His lips are tipped to one side as he lets his other hand fall down to her other hip.

Gooseflesh forms under her clothing and she's wondering if she should come up with some snarky quip about what he's doing but he makes the next move before she has a chance.

He swiftly turns them around, guiding her by the hips until her lower back is pressed into the kitchen island. His body follows suit and he's pressed firmly into her, his breaths hitting her cheek before she realizes her eyes have closed.

She feels him everywhere. His warm palms still singe her skin around her hip bones, his stomach is pressed into hers and his chest lightly grazes her now hardened nipples.

Her voice is a rasp against her throat when she speaks, "The game on yet?"

His breaths continue to hit her cheek even harder when he leans down to whisper into her ear.

"Not until another half an hour. The pre-game comes on in a few minutes. Lots of time still."

She's not sure if this is reality or some fantasy she's concocted while she'd been dreamily watching him cook from the kitchen bar.

But the octave of his voice sends shivers through her and reminds her just how real this is as it filters into her ear again as one of his warm palms glides up her back and onto the back of her neck.

"Olivia," he starts. Her eyes are barely open and she's not fighting this. Hell it's been a year exactly since that day at the courthouse and a little over six months since they've been getting together as friends. But a little lunch here and a dinner date there never prepared her for the intensity of his gaze, and heat and body on hers right now.

"Yes?" she huffs out drowzily as he rubs the underside of her hair line with his thick fingers.

"I'm ..." he hesitates before pressing his cheek against hers as he searches for an explanation. The electricity flying between them at the moment is more than apparent to both of them and unbelievably unpredicted.

She'd always know they had it between them but for it to flare up in this moment is something she wasn't prepared for but she's not against it, not one bit.

"El..."

"I want to kiss you," he breathes out. "But I don't wanna scare you," he offers sincerely, his worry and adrenaline somehow infiltrating her veins.

Her breath catches and she finds herself navigating her hands around his chest for a moment before gaining feeling in them again and wrapping them around his neck.

She slowly opens her eyes and pulls her head away from his cheek for a moment, then she locks eyes with him before looking down at his chest.

When she looks back up, a million thoughts as to why they shouldn't do this cross her mind, they've been her mantra for all the years she's known him.

And as she looks past him at his tiny kitchen inside of his small apartment in Manhattan, cookbook laying half open on the counter a part of her brian tells her that, even after all this time, she still needs those excuses. But in a more conscious part of her brain, something hits her.

There's nothing standing in their way - he's a free man and he wants to kiss her. It's been six months of getting to know each other again and who the hell is she to deny him what he wants? What she wants?

She blinks slowly then furrows her brows before lifting one up surreptitiously.

"I'm not going to bullshit you, Elliot. I've... we've been through some terrible shit together. Seen some of the worst people can do... that scares me. You kissing me sure as hell isn't on that list though."

His eyes search hers and then he lifts one of his hands and pushes the hair back behind her ear.

A small grin then forms on his face as his index finger lingers around the crease of her eye.

His eyes dip to her lips and back to her eyes again.

She swallows as she takes him in once more. All of him.

He catches her gaze just before his eyes find her mouth again and she doesn't knows what air is when his lips press against hers. Her fingers grip the back of his neck and he's inching his body even closer to hers and she doesn't think they can get any closer.

She slowly opens her mouth to him. His breaths hitting her mouth as he comes in for more. His hands both find their place at her hips again and she imagines he's willing himself to behave because the strain on his sweatpants isn't fooling anyone nor does she really care.

She presses in and kisses him back and he turns his head, capturing her lips at a different angle. His tongue darts out and tastes her bottom one before capturing it in between his.

She feels herself floating with each touch. She feels the nerve endings vibrating inside of her, coming alive in places that she'd long ago thought lost.

She thinks for a second about the man she's been in love with for the better part of a decade.

Laughing to herself, she quickly comes to realize something.

Not only can the man bake, but he can kiss like he's in the middle of a damn romance movie.

His lips press against her several times, light brushes and pecks and she feels her knees go weak as she grips the shoulders of his shirt.

Reluctantly, he pulls his upper body away, breathing hard but he doesn't move the rest of himself away, his stomach pressing against hers with every labored breath.

"I'm going to get the chicken out now."

His eyes are glossy and he's the cutest thing she's ever seen. His lips are red and moist and his face is flushed. His hair line is still receding but goddamn if he isn't the epitome of boyish charm. She sees his eyes scan her face and body and watches him realize how tightly they're pressed together.

He flushes in front of her as he recognizes what's touching her upper thigh.

He clears his throat and stands back.

Running a hand down the back of his head, he stammers as he tries to explain his sudden arousal away.

"I'm... I'm sor-"

"Elliot," she smirks, raising her index finger to his lips. She silently steps closer to him and swipes away the lingering moisture with her thumb. "Just... get the chicken out. I'll get the salad," she offers him; giving him a break because there's no way in hell they weren't equally turned on.

He nods accepting her peace offering. She takes in the view of his ass as he bends over and opens the oven door with his one oven mitt on. She grins again and shakes her head as she goes to retrieve the bowl of salad.

She breathes in deeply, filling her lungs with the mixture of his scent and the smell of chicken wings and thinks that she hasn't felt this light in years.

The air slowly escapes her lungs and she can't help but think of how eager she is to breathe more of this in.

. . .

The game is over but the night is still young as Elliot walks over to the door and slides his jacket on.

"Thanks for sitting with Eli while I take Rayna home, Liv. Like you said, I'd hate to wake him up."

Olivia smiles as she watches the young boy hunched over the arm of the couch as he sleeps, not having made it half way through the football game.

"No problem, El. We'll be waiting here when you get back," she offers, making sure to let him know she's not going anywhere.

"Alright, come on Rayna, your mom is expecting ya kiddo."

"Bye, Olivia," the small, tired voice comes out, the girl having almost fell asleep herself as the game went on. "Tell, Eli I said bye, Uncle Elliot?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him when he wakes up. He'll understand."

"Okay, bye again, 'Livia."

"Bye sweetheart," Olivia responds as she brushes Eli's hair away from his forehead as she sits with him on the couch, watching Elliot and his ex-wife's niece leave.

She sits with Eli an hour while Elliot drives Rayna back home to Queens.

She's dozing off herself at quarter till ten when she feels something warm wrap around the back of her shoulders.

She instinctively looks down to see Eli still sound asleep next to her, his head still resting on the arm of the couch.

Looking to her left, she smells his scent before turning her gaze to see Elliot perched next to her.

His arm is behind her head on the back of the couch and his side barely touches her as his head lies back against the cushions, eyes closed.

He speaks without opening them or moving his head.

"You want me to take you home. Looks like everyone's still full of food and worn out," he grins but still not opening his eyes.

She shifts a little on the couch and turns slightly in his direction, looking at his face that's lined with the slightest of wrinkles.

He still looks amazing for his age and finds herself again marveling at him. Wondering when it was that she found herself so unbelievably fascinated by his charm and presence.

She lifts her hand gingerly and places it on his stomach hesitantly, letting the heat of his skin seep through his shirt and onto her palm.

"Trying to get rid of me already," she whispers against his shoulder.

His head slowly, timidly pops up off of the back of the couch before he turns it toward her, his eyes opening and catching hers as she looks up at him at the same time.

"No," he utters, swallowing at the words leave his mouth. "I'm not trying to get rid of you at all. I'm actually wondering what I have to do to keep you here longer," he admits freely, with a small grin on his lips.

She turns her head fully into his shoulder, hiding her face briefly, not knowing what to say but insanely pleased by his words.

She runs her hands from his stomach up to his chest and looks up at the same time.

"I'm in no hurry," she offers. "I'm kinda comfortable. What do you have in mind for the rest of the night?"

He shifts on the couch and moves the hand from behind her head to his leg and rubs it up and down his thigh before motioning to the television.

"We could uh, you could stay after I put Eli to bed. Then we could watch a movie, if you want," he says shyly.

It's her turns to swallow back nerves but it's not the type preventing her from functioning, it's the kind that make her anticipate each move he makes and each word he speaks and each breath of air he inhales.

Her answer is out of her mouth before she has a chance to think of an excuse why not to.

"Yeah," she nods, patting his chest as she sits up slightly, turning to him again with her hand now on his shoulder. "I can do that," she offers turning her head to the side as she catches his eye. "Why don't you put him to bed now and I'll pick the movie."

His neck bobs as a smile small cross his features as he reluctantly goes to stand.

She watches the contours of his body move with each of his stretches and groans and she finds herself moving with him.

She stands up too and they find themselves standing awkwardly next to each other before she points with her head toward the movie rack next to his big screen.

"I'll go see what you have."

"Okay, " he agrees. "Come on buddy, time for bed," he mumbles as he picks up his son's hand. The young boy's eyes barely open but he obeys his father's orders and follows his father down the hallway toward his bedroom.

Olivia peruses the movie section of his shelf for long minutes before finally deciding on an old movie with Julianne Moore and Ralph Fiennes called "An End to an Affair."

She's surprised he has such a movie but she assumes it's one of his daughter's. She picks up a comedy with Will Ferrell in it too just in case the romance gives him the wrong idea.

Though she'd like to think earlier in the kitchen was an indication of how he'd like the night to go, she won't get to far ahead of herself and she definitely doesn't want to push things so soon after what's she's been through relationship wise.

If anything, this has to be done the right way if it is going to happen at all. And… she can't believe she's thinking of Elliot as a possibility.

Her heart flutters in her chest as she sits on the couch and waits for him.

Several minutes later, she hears him pad down the hallway and suddenly everything comes flowing back to her like a torrent of wind.

Not even a year ago, they were sitting hunched over in the back stairwell of the courthouse after nearly three years of no contact.

She remembers the air of forgiveness between them this past summer as they'd gently heard each other out and each new day that had passed after that.

The oxygen began replenishing her lungs the moment he first gripped her from behind in a hug that hasn't left her psyche yet.

The feeling in her limbs came back to life the moment he'd barely grazed her hand in the park.

And she began living again, the moment he'd stepped into her apartment a few weeks ago after agreeing to have dinner together.

He silently looks at her choices of movies sitting in front of her on the coffee table, then reaches down and picks up the romance one without hesitation.

He looks at the cover for only a moment before turning around and putting it into the dvd player.

When he sits back down next to her, even closer than they were moments before he put his son to bed, she breathes him in again, wrapping her arm around his back undaunted for the moment and relishing in the ability to do so.

As his arm wraps around her shoulders again, his head dips low and he nudges her face with his nose, turning her attention to his features outlined in the dim living room.

When his voice filters out against the opening credits of the movie, her heart pounds so loudly she's afraid he can hear it.

"Thank you so much for coming, Olivia. I appreciate it so much. You so much," he adds so quietly.

She breathes in deeply through her nose before catching his glossy eyes in the light of the television. She looks into them before letting her gaze slip to his lips.

It doesn't take much for it to happen.

She reaches up to let him know that she knows, she understands. Rubbing his jaw with her thumb, she leans up and kisses him and he reciprocates immediately.

The kiss is as sensual and light as it had been earlier in his kitchen. She presses in and opens her mouth, running her tongue against his.

The movie is long forgotten but the background noise is a welcome distraction from the low moan that escapes her when he runs his palms underneath her shirt.

His palms then graze her sides but she doesn't fight the intensity of his proximity.

She doesn't let her mind fight against the massive change in their relationship as he kisses her over and over, his mouth moving over her lips, her cheek, and then to her neck.

She just lets herself be. She simply breathes, as his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Her hands then glide across the back of his head, his neck and finally she clings to his shoulders as he lays her back against the cushions beneath them both.

Six months of getting to know one another again. One year of forgiveness. Three years of wondering what if. Ten years of being in love.

It's in the moments while he's moving above her, touching her, lavishing her with his sincerity and restraint and tenderness, with his body pressed against hers so intimately that she realizes that only twelve years out of fifteen total of knowing him, has she truly thrived.

And it's been by simply breathing him in.

_finis. _

* * *

_**Important Note:**I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm quite possibly changing my penname on here. I'm going to go from PushTheButtton to ItsALifesJourney (which is a segment of one of Mariska's powerful quotes.). I just wanted to give a heads up in case anyone gets confused. This quote also matches my twitter handle in case anyone's curious. _

_Anyhow, thanks again for all the amazing words and support on my stories. :)  
_


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